


ALPHA Z

by alizarin_nyc



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Apocalyptothons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-21
Updated: 2009-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:37:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/pseuds/alizarin_nyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It was brilliant of someone to come up with the biological equivalent of my wonderful doll-making machine,” Topher said. “But what a shame it mutated.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	ALPHA Z

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Penmage](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Penmage).



> Written as a pinch-hit for the Apocalyptothon 2009.

A

“Zombies ate his face off. His _face_.” Adele rubbed her temples.

“Here, let me do that,” Topher said, and placed his fingers on her scalp, thumbs at the edges where her eyebrows thinned to a point. Surprisingly, it felt quite nice.

“You always did say your ex would meet a bad end,” Topher continued. “I mean, I didn’t think you’d care that much.”

She gave him a severe, sidelong glare. “He was a completely useless human being, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to be eaten by zombies.”

“The Alpha-Zed doesn’t actually eat people, you know. It’s more of a gnawing, rather than an actual feeding.” Topher stopped rubbing her temples and flopped back on her leather couch, once a sumptuous luxury, now a blood-and-guts-covered arse perch. He waved his hand in the air, attempting airy intelligence, but achieving something closer to a windmill in a hurricane. She’d let him drink too much.

“God, Topher you’re an idiot sometimes.” She knew what the Alpha-Zed did. She had helped create it, hadn’t she? She still preferred to call them zombies. It was a little less close to home.

“It was brilliant of someone to come up with the biological equivalent of my wonderful doll-making machine,” Topher said. “But what a shame it mutated.”

It was a shame, she had to admit. It would have eliminated the need for Topher, for one. A simple injection instead of a painful mindwipe. It had seemed like a humane solution and was going to greatly reduce their electricity bills.

Then Alpha had happened, dropping in on them again, uninvited, and things had gotten complicated. The mutated biological agent got outside.

It got outside and turned everyone into Alphas. All of the sadism, none of the cleverness. The entire population of Los Angeles tore each other apart in a matter of days. After that, the television stopped broadcasting and Adele closed her blinds. Before going off-air, the media had learned of the Rossum company’s involvement; had learned what an “Alpha” was. They coined the term Alpha-Zombie, or Alpha-Z as a cute way of describing the virus.

A to Z, the virus was wholly, unquestionably lethal. It wiped out everyone by turning them into killing machines.

“You’re out of Glenfiddich,” Topher said, and burped.

“Go sleep it off,” she replied. “I’ve work to do.”

 

B

Adele entered Ballard’s holding cell and offered him a cookie. He was starving and stressed enough to eat it, and she stood back while he did so, admiring his torso. She’d outfitted him in doll’s clothes, and it was a good look for him. When he finished, he turned his thinning face toward her, cheekbones prominent, eyes ringed and sunken, but not a hint of capitulation anywhere on him.

“I’d like to make you a deal,” she said.

“I’m listening.”

 

C

Ballard stood at the head of the stairs. He was waiting for something, she just didn’t know what.

“I have one question,” he said. He turned to face her and she still saw the face of her foe. The face of the annoying little gnat that had plagued her and her Dollhouse until the world came crashing down around them. He should be thankful she locked him up in her dungeon. If he’d been on the outside, he’d be dead.

“I’ll see if I can answer it,” Adele told him smoothly. She could not, under any circumstances, let him know how much she needed him.

“What’s the catch?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What’s your angle? What do you get out of this? Because I know there’s something in it for you.”

“Of course, Mr. Ballard. That’s the way business is done. There’s something in it for me.” She paused, pursed her lips. (Even in an Apocalypse, one should never be without lipstick.) “Not my usual fare, revenge, but that’s what it boils down to. I want every Rossum power broker to see just how _humane_ their little Alpha-Zed is.”

Earlier, she had given him and Boyd Langton several vials of the Alpha-Zed and several vials of the antidote. It was all she had left, but it would be enough to take down the remaining Rossum outfits, and they would have to pick and choose who they would inoculate.

What she left unsaid was that she was too afraid to do it herself. She was too afraid to ever leave the Dollhouse again.

 

D

Ballard took his little army of Actives and left the Dollhouse. Topher cried and begged her to change her mind. She would not.

From her office she was able to keep track of them. Topher sent her regular updates on the Actives’ emotional states, and Ballard and Boyd stayed in regular contact.

It was her most important job yet. She treated it with all the professionalism she would bring to any engagement for the most loyal client.

 

E

They left a radio channel open one night and she could hear their conversations.

 _It’s beautiful out here._ Echo.

_Once we’re out from under the smog, it’s amazing how many stars you can see._

Ballard, of course. Going for casual and failing. They spoke about the stars and the heavens and immortality. Ballard's voice was uncharacteristically soft.

“Tch, tch,” she said to herself. “Mr. Ballard, you have been in love with a ghost. She is no more than that.”

She slept. Her internal clock was completely off, and when she woke up, it was late afternoon. The radio was still transmitting intermittent conversations. She could spend hours listening in to the lives that had once been under her control. She made them, each and every one. Even Boyd and Ballard, though not Dolls, were still her creations. Didn’t they become who they were because of the Dollhouse? What would they have been without her?

She had just been retrieving some fresh clothes from her office walk-in when she overheard what seemed to be a more interesting conversation.

 _She let us go. We’ve got what we need after Dallas. We don’t have to keep going._ Boyd.

 _We don’t have to, but we will. There are twenty of them. Do you know what that means?_ Ballard.

_Not every one is going to dream up biological imprinting, Paul. We need to restore the Actives as soon as possible._

_We can’t. We have to take down all of Rossum, and we can’t do that without them. Their knowledge… their imprints, are the key to the whole thing._

_So you’re saying that we hold off on giving them their memories back._

_Yes._

_For the good of the human race._

_Yes._

_They have no say in the matter?_

_This is different, Boyd, and you know it._

_Is it really so different? You heard what DeWitt said. Revenge. This is still all about her. What she wants._

_We have to take them down, Boyd._

_Using the Actives as weapons._

_Yes, dammit. It’s the only choice we have._

Adele swiveled in her chair. She took a lipstick-rimmed glass from the untidy collection on her desk and made her way to the liquor cabinet, heels in hand.

She refilled her glass. “As you Americans say, walk a mile in my shoes, boys. Just a mile.”

She smiled to herself and bent to slide her heels back on.

“It’s farther than it looks.”

 

F

Dr. Saunders didn’t bother to knock.

“Radio reports say they’re going to detonate a nuclear bomb over Los Angeles,” she said. Should wipe out everyone already infected – those who are still alive, anyway. And the rest of the country is under strict quarantines.”

“That’s good news,” Adele said calmly.

“Is it? A nuke is going to land on our heads. Is that good news?’

“I’m sure you have time to get to safety.”

“But you don’t know that. You don’t know how much time I have. And what about Topher and the rest? What about the Attic?” Dr. Saunders’ hands were strangely still as she held them clasped in front of her. As if she knew that Adele didn’t care about her. As if she knew what really mattered.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Take any SUV you like. And please take Topher with you, he won’t make it out there on his own.”

Dr. Saunders turned to go. “One more thing,” Adele said. “I recently learned that our Mr. Ballard and Mr. Langton managed to steal all the original identities from Topher and they took them with them.”

“You think I had something to do with that?” Her chin lifted defiantly. _Good girl_ , Adele thought.

“No, dear. What I thought you should consider is that more than likely they have your original identity. If you catch up with them…”

It was a lot to drop on a young woman who just learned she had to run for her life or be nuked to high heaven. She was out the door and gone before Adele had time to finish her sentence.

“…you too can have a clean slate. Or at least the original dirty one you came in here with.”

 

G

Ballard and his merry band took the Rossum Dallas Dollhouse in less than three hours.

“Impressive,” she told him.

“One down,” he said.

“Eighteen to go.” She held her breath to see if he would agree.

“Eighteen to go. Boyd doesn’t like it, but he agrees we have to do this.”

“Poor Paul. I know how tough it is, believe me. But when it’s all over, you’ll have the lovely privilege of handing them back their lives. And they won’t remember any of this.”

He was silent for a moment. She knew he was wishing Echo would remember _him_.

“And don’t worry about us here. We’re being nuked in a few minutes. In fact, you called just in time.”

“What? Adele, you’ve got to get out of there. What are you doing?” Paul actually sounded panicked. It was rather sweet.

“I’ve sent Dr. Saunders and Topher after you. They’re not likely to make it outside the blast radius, but just in case, keep an eye out, would you?”

“We’re moving out tonight. Headed for New York. Seems that Alpha-Z has been contained in the east.”

“Fewer zombies. I’m glad to hear it, even though I’m sure you’re very tasty.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Oh, be generous with a woman about to be nuked.”

“Adele, the Dollhouse is a bomb shelter, I’m sure of it. You can survive this.”

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” she said. She could hear the planes overhead, could hear sirens in the streets. “Got to go watch the show. Don’t stop until you’ve hit twenty, Paul. We have a deal.”

“I won’t, Adele.”

She clicked off the radio and set it aside. White light boiled up from below and then it was all around her. She’d done her part. And this part was over.

Death didn’t scare her. Not this kind. Not when it was so perfectly orchestrated.

After all, a clean slate was a perfect place to be reborn.


End file.
